


A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!

by awehellyiss



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Bigamy, Cultural Differences, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Middle Ages, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Multi, Period-Typical Sexism, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29955372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awehellyiss/pseuds/awehellyiss
Summary: Passed over as heirs when their father remarries, Marianne And Dawn are traded away in arranged marriages to the Northern barbarian King. Things are not what they expected nor what they hoped for. Dawn makes friends, and Marianne swears she might kill more than one king before her time is up.** edits are ongoing, and i'm constantly restructuring story elements, previous chapters are being edited as new ones are posted**This is hopefully going to be a multi chapter royalty/human AU set in a fantasy middle ages adjacent type setting.
Relationships: Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic), Dawn/Sunny (Strange Magic)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	1. A soft coup

**Author's Note:**

> As a heads up, I am writing this at my own choice not for any gain or for anyone else. I do not have a proof reader, there will very likely be spelling/grammar mistakes as I have difficulties with spelling and proofreading. So please be kind.

Marianne always knew she would have to marry, though it had always felt like a far-off dream. Being the Crown princess of the Summerlands, she knew what was expected of her. Her father had been so kind when they were young, allowing both her and Dawn to pick from the Lords and what-nots in the kingdom, giving them the freedom to choose someone they actually liked. Afterall she would be Queen and would need to at least get alone with the future king. So, when Roland began to court her, it had felt so easy. He had been beautiful, kind, and willing to deal with Marianne’s unusual disposition. Marianne had demanded to attend trade negotiations, boarder meetings, and any other meetings a monarch ought to. The council had let her because Roland had agreed, Roland’s father being the longest serving member of the Kings council. Not that Marianne knew that she had needed their permission, regardless of the council’s displeasure. She had been vocal, hardheaded and unwilling to compromise when the common folk’s wellbeing was sacrificed.  
Marianne had been a strong force championing for the common folk. She backed grain taxes that established a wealth subsidy for the poorest or least successful farmers by crop yield, funding for public healers, opening a trades school, allocating funds to maintain the public water wells, and most of all revitalizing and expanding the market and harbor: bringing an influx of wealth to the lower class. With Roland’s influence her engagement had tempered her stubbornness, slowly making her less and less active, chided by her betrothed who wanted a more quiet, timid wife. Roland’s interference allowed the council to slowly gain more control over the King and his dealings.   
This came to a head when Marianne had broken off her engagement to Roland, outright refusing to entertain a husband. As the crown princess, this was unacceptable, and the council would not have it. Within a week the council had convinced Dagda to take another wife, for he truly wasn’t too old, and his late wife had long passed.   
“Sire the kingdom needs a strong male heir”, in hushed tones “your daughters however beautiful have not the temperament to lead” they whispered, “the people need a strong son to follow your rule my king”, turning him against his own daughters.  
Dagda had not been that strong willed to begin with, hardly the shadow of the man he was when he drove back the barbarians and settled the boarders thirty years past. He remarried, to a young lady from the southern lands, timid but healthy. To add insult to his daughters being passed over, she was just shy of five summers older than Marianne. Within two months she was with child. By the end of the summer, she had given birth to a strong baby boy. Dagda had a male heir, and upon the council’s advice had bartered his daughters to the Northern King for a useful trading contract and access to the northern mine’s ore trading.  
To say that Marianne was angry was an understatement. Raging, seething, rampagingly furious to find out her father had remarried, even more so to find herself usurped by a ‘rightful’ male heir. As if Marianne hadn’t been schooled her entire life to become a good Queen, as if the common people didn’t already love her.   
The council had essentially turned her father into a puppet, guaranteeing a new young king they could control. But she was not angry when it was announced that she and Dawn had been promised in marriage. Bartered off for a trade contract, she and Dawn were to be married off for Iron trading rights and access to trade roads. It was hard to be angry when the numbness set in. No anger, just miserable bone aching sadness. To make matters worse, It was unheard of for any man in the Summerlands to take multiple wives, it was seen as an affront of his first wives class and ability to maintain her marriage. That was not to say that Summerlands lords didn’t have mistresses, or entertain themselves outside their marriage bed, but strict inheritance laws only recognized lineage through marriage. So to take a second wife was a horrible thing to do to the first wife, publicly declaring she was unfit to mother children, maintain a household or manage her husband. But nobody knew much about the Northlands marriage customs, they tended to keep to themselves. The council was incredibly carful to be vague in the Marriage announcement, knowing the unrest the commonfolk would raise at the issue. But they knew as well, the longer the former heirs remained in the capitol or the kingdom itself the more of a risk they posed to the councils hold over the people of the Summerlands.

After the announcement was made and plans began to pack their lives up and ship them north before the winter months arrived. The night before their departure Marianne found Dawn curled up in the corner of Marianne’s royal chambers, wrapped in a quilt their mother had made.   
At first Dawn didn’t notice her. Her tear-streaked face pale and gaunt.  
“Hi” Marianne reached out gently, “lemme in” Dawn didn’t make eye contact but opened her arms to Marianne.   
“Please” Dawn whispered, Marianne didn’t think Dawn knew what she was begging for.  
Slowly worming into Dawn’s arms, they sat curled up together, until the candles burned out and the moon was shining through the windows. Holding each other like they did when they were young, crying and trying to console each other.   
After a while Marianne said “it’s not fair”  
“I know” dawn rubber her hand over Marianne’s.   
“Maybe he won’t be that bad” Dawn said dejectedly,  
“the Barbarian King?”   
“Maybe he’s like the princes in my books, kind, gallant and gentle.” Marianne hoped for Dawn’s sake, that the king was at least decent. For as unheard of as it was, Dawn and Marianne were both promised to the same king, Marianne knew she would take the brunt of the responsibility, be that cruelty or otherwise to spare Dawn. At this point Marianne would marry any great beast for Dawn to have any happiness. Holding each other in the dark, they cried. For their lost childhoods, for their sham of a father, their loss of freedom, their mother, their kingdom, for each other, and for an uncertain future. After a while Marianne lifted Dawn into bed and crawled in after her.

Dawn woke sharply to a loud clanging just after sun-up. Panicking briefly until she saw Marianne. On one knee, in her outstretch hand a sword vibrating from clipping the stone floor.  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you” Marianne spoke, standing and resetting her position.  
“I thought the king confiscated your sword when you threatened to castrate Roland” Dawn relaxed back into the covers, hiding from the streaks of sunlight in Marianne’s room. ‘the king’, not ‘our father’, not anymore.  
“He only confiscated one of them” Marianne grinned wickedly, “you think I’d be foolish enough to only have one?”  
Dawn watched from the security of the blankets. Marianne flowed like water from one pose to the next, with expert precision and timing, slashing and parrying enemies only she could see. Her long skirts swirling around her legs, and her short hair tied behind a leather band.   
“I’m surprised Roland never noticed” Dawn observed. Marianne glanced at her before spinning into a difficult series of twists, leg sweeps and slashes.   
“The training?” Marianne asked. Dawn nodded.  
“He wouldn’t notice anything other than the skirts of the castle staff or the ladies from each delegation, now that I think about it. If I wanted him to notice I would have put a pair of breasts on my sword” Marianne scowled, “I can’t believe I was going to marry that prick.” Though if I did, we wouldn’t be in this mess. She thought to herself.  
“I’m glad you learned, it feels less hopeless knowing you can protect us when we run off and live in the woods” Dawn spoke flatly. They had only briefly thought of running away, when their new Queens’ pregnancy had been announced, knowing if it was a boy they would be quickly disposed of. Running away remained a fantasy, they were too recognizable, where could they go? Two young women, unmarried in the wilds with no money, no property and no hope?   
Then the council had doubled their guards, when their Marriage contracts were announced. Knowing the princesses retained some value in bargaining chips, so they were kept alive.  
“Maybe we will kill our barbarian husband and live wild in the northern forests” Marianne Jested.  
“the Warrior Queen Marianne and her sweet sister, the terrors of the moors. Sister wives of a dead king” Dawn sniggered.   
It was quite for a while, while Marianne drilled her sword skills, and Dawn dozed on and off. Waiting for the inevitable.

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, Marianne sheathed her sword and stashed it quickly under the bed. Dawn grabbed their dressing gowns, throwing Marianne’s to her. Just in time for a servant carrying a simple breakfast, followed by their father to enter.  
Knowing not to cause more trouble with their lives in the balance, they curtsied to their father.  
“Princess Marianne, Princess Dawn” he inclined his head to both of them, though he did not meet their eyes.   
“Your things are prepared; you depart at noon today. A wagon will take you to the boarder by nightfall tomorrow. The delegations will meet, those present will witness the contract signing, and you will continue to your future husbands’ lands”   
Dawn took Marianne’s hand, squeezing tightly begging her silently to remain quiet. It was too late though; Marianne’s numbness had been burned away by her rising anger.   
“I hope you’re happy” She said, words dripping with venom.  
“Marianne, understand that I didn’t have much of a choi-” Dagda started, but was cut off by the explosive shout from Marianne “DON’T”   
Dagda looked like he had been slapped, Marianne’s anger faded just as quickly as it had risen. There is nothing I can do, a voice in her head said, the deal is made.  
“Father, please allow us to dress and gather the last of our things before we depart” Dawn spoke in a perfectly calm tone, placating the anger and sadness permeating the room. And so, Dagda left, the last view of his daughters for a very long time.  
Together they changed, ate the small breakfast of fruit and bread that had been left. Dawn grabbed their mother’s jewelry, a few books and her mother’s quilt. Marianne dug through a chest of blankets, pulling out a second sword and a set of three daggers, which she strapped to her legs beneath her traveling skirts. One sword went into a chest, the other was tied in a roll of beddings that was wedged into another sac of fabric.   
They gathered the last of their lives into a few chests and followed the guards who were loading the last of their things onto a carriage. Then they climbed into the flat bed of the covered wagon. Wedging themselves a flat place to sit amongst their things. There was no fanfare, no goodbyes from the King, hardly anyone would realize their absence for many days. Again, Marianne and Dawn held each other as the pair of horses hitched to the wagon were spurred forward. The mounted soldiers took up their positions around it and they slowly advanced towards the young pair’s future


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bog learns he's got not one wife but two.

Bog is unimpressed by his mother’s medaling at the best times, but this was beyond ridiculous. The Northern clans did not trade in human lives, let alone barter and buy wives.   
He had just returned from a scouting mission, to ensure the western tribes had enough food and stores for the coming winter months. Returning with his band of chosen warriors only to find upon his return that his mother had bartered two disgraced princesses as his Brides, for trading roads, harbour access, and mineral trading rights with the northern mines.  
Dismounting he handed off his reigns to his great beast of a horse to a horseman to be fed, watered and rested. Approaching his rough canvass tent, he was greeted by many of his people along the way. Their small camp was the last temporary stop before they would winter in the Long homes of the Kingsfort, where most of the wandering tribes settled for the cold months.   
It wasn’t hard for him to be noticed walking through their camp, a head taller than anyone else, most cleared way for their King. He easily found the semi-circle arched shape of his tent, the peak of the curve rising just taller than Bog’s head.   
Upon entering, he found his mother sitting on a carved stump seat, near a small table opposite his bed  
“I can nae believe you bartered your son two brides!” he said haughtily, sitting on another stump, behind the tray of food his mother had brought for him.  
“I see you’ve heard, I hoped they would let me tell you.” She replied flatly.  
“No ma, I Had the pleasure of being blindsided by the Skerit’s chief, congratulating me on my nuptials.” His anger had faded on the journey home, all that was left was vague annoyance.  
“Bog we’ve heard the whispers from the Summerlands for months, you know as well as I do that, they would have ended up dead if someone had not agreed to marry them!” Griselda was equally unimpressed. She did not want to deal with Bog’s attitude. She was right of course, Whispers of a puppet king, passing over the crown princesses and remarrying to secure a male heir had spread quickly, even among the fractured northern clans.  
“I did nae need a bride, nor did I need two” he sighed “Much less ones that will hate me for bartering for them in the first place.” Griselda met his eyes.   
“Much worse would have happened to these girls, and you know it” she snapped before taking a steadying breath and continuing more evenly,   
“I did what was right. Here they will be fed, and safe, not murdered in their beds because they pose a threat to a coward King. The Trade deal would have happened without their marriage attached. With the mines doing as well as they are, we are lucky to find some place to sell the ore.” Bog knew that was true as well, he still hated it. After what he delt with he didn’t need wives.  
He did not want for companionship beyond his main band of warriors, the ragtag band of a dozen men and women he’d gladly fight alongside. Traveling to end boarder scuffles between clans, and resource disputes, drinking by the fire at night and hunting when needed; he didn’t want for much at all. His role as King was secure and much different to the other kingdoms, the clans for the most part delt with themselves. He was lucky to have Griselda, happy to fulfill any inter-kingdom political needs, like negotiating trade rights with the Summerlands. Things Bog could do but were better left to those with more patience. He was not ashamed of that. He was raised better than resenting women, let alone his mother for excelling at what he did not. The northern clans for the most part held women in much higher esteem than the other kingdoms. Women here were held on equal footing with their spouses, not forced into simpering breeding stock. It was not unheard of for bigamy, but marriages were a much less formal affair to the clans. Most took a hands-off approach to peoples personal bedding habits as long as all parties were able to and happily consented. The kingship over the 30 or so clans scattered around the Northern forests, moors and marshes relied equally on anyone and as long as homes functioned who was anyone to say who could bed who, Let alone the Bog King.

Griselda watched her son, he had a distant look on his face, working through the sudden change. She knew what she did wasn’t ideal but helping these princesses without a kingdom before their King and Council thought the benefit of killing them outweighed the outrage that killing them would cause. 

“When do they arrive?” Bog finally asked.  
“They arrive at the boarder by nightfall the night after next” Griselda replied.  
That is altogether too soon, Bog thought.   
“You’ll have to set ought at first light to meet them at the border on the King’s road.” Griselda spoke and Bog nodded again.  
“I’ll ready the horses and call up the band to be ready for first light,” She said as she turned to leave. Right as Griselda was pulling back the canvass of the tent she was stopped by a small sound.  
“Ma?” almost missed it.  
“Hmm?” she replied  
Bog opened his mouth to say something but closed it. He settled on “Thanks, I guess” Griselda only smiled and let the canvass fall closed behind her. He finished eating, changed and threw himself onto his bed, burying himself amongst the soft furs. Sleep did not find him easily.

After the first day of riding Bog was growing irritated. Ridding with an empty wagon was slowing down the travels. His previous journey to the western clans had left him battered, and tired. They ended up riding part of the night as well to meet the rendezvous on time. By sun high the next day his band had begun to discuss the princesses, which only added to Bogs tired frayed nerves. Trading jeers and rude comments about the upcoming brides, hoping that their tents would were not too close to Bog’s when they returned to camp. Although most had heard the rumors of the puppet king without the context, they lacked the understanding of Bog’s new sister wives. Bog knew they meant no real malice, but knowing that these girls had been thrown out like barrels of grain in a trade deal left acrid taste in his mouth.   
By dusk Bog had grown so irritated with their taunts he road ahead, out of earshot. Only after having verbally lashed them so severely that they wouldn’t dare say anything Infront of him or the princesses, But it was not up to Bog to announce the tarnished social status of these women. Especially when the contract was not yet signed. Eventually the Bard Sunny took out his flute and began leading the rest in some merry songs and poems.  
The evening of the second night, they met the king’s delegation of mostly soldiers at a crossroads just inside the Summerland’s Boarder. 

“Greetings your kingship, we come on glad tidings” a lordling called. Bog bit the inside of his cheek hard. Glad tidings My ass, you’re here to make your problem mine.  
“aye” was all he said as he dismounted his horse. The same lordling continued some spoken formalities while Bog’s band led up the empty wagon. Bog could already see the half dozen chests stacked on the side of the road along with a few wrapped bags. Two young women, one covered in a riding cloak, the other with her hood down. The blonde’s hair shown dimly in the dusk light. He drew his attention back to the matters at hand.  
The delegation produced papers and a small folding table to sign them on. It was all too business like and set Bog’s teeth on edge. To trade the rights of a human being with a piece of paper felt fundamentally wrong, but he knew better than to say anything.   
One pair of documents was the trade agreement. That granted the Summerlands access to the eastern metal workers village, and the Northern lands were granted access to the western harbour. The second set was the marriage agreement. That stated the Bog king took possession of the marriage rights of Marianne and Dawn Defay of the Summerlands. Signing this would legally bind these two women to him according to Summerland law, but in the Northlands the legality was murky. Bog was not going to tell anyone that of course, not until the princesses were safe. Guilt welled up in Bog’s chest but be signed and sealed each set of contracts. The delegates from the Summerlands Mounted up and road away. Disappearing back the way they came.  
The women remained still as Bogs band loaded up the wagon. It wasn’t until their whole lives were loaded up, that the walked to the back of the wagon. No words were spoken, no one felt comfortable enough to break the now heavy silence. Even his band of fighters noticed the heavy mood that hung over the group. When the two women reached the wagon, the hooded One boosted the other up allowing her to sit on the back edge. Then climbed up herself. In her movement the hood fell back showing Bog short cut dark brown hair, before she turned. Finally showing Bog her face. A face covered in fresh bruises and cuts.


	3. Battered and Bruised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roland makes an appearance

Marianne knew the moment they set up camp that first night that something would go wrong. She had hidden her sword in the large fabric bag in the wagon with them. But when they stopped for the night, after reliving themselves, Marianne finally noticed which soldiers and delegates were with them. Most of them were sons of council members, they needed men loyal to them she thought. One of them to Marianne’s great dismay had shining golden hair and over polished armor. Roland. She had hoped she’d escape him, having enough luck not to see him after she faced their new hell in the north.   
Dawn had returned to the Wagon, knowing it was safer to sleep there (with Marianne and her Blades) than in a tent however uncomfortable. When the slimy low voice turned Marianne’s blood cold.

“Why hello my little buttercup” Marianne kept her eyes down, giving a small curtesy to Roland,  
“Oh now sweetheart don’t be like that” He followed her, all of the other men had gathered around the fire, their backs turned to the wagon. Marianne knew this would not end well, Roland was surrounded by men who would look the other way, on their way to a place where no one at home would care about her or Dawn. She kept her mouth shut.  
“Now buttercup, that’s not very lady like, Afterall, I’m the reason you’re still alive.” Marianne kept her eyes glued to the ground.  
“the council wanted to have you killed, now I couldn’t let my little buttercup die that easy. I wanted to humiliate you first” Roland purred, putting a hand on Marianne’s shoulder. Marianne was no stranger to pain at Roland’s hands. Every instinct she had told her to run, but there was nowhere to go, and if she ran off Dawn would be alone. She couldn’t run. She stayed still.  
“After what you threatened to do with your sword, going and trying to embarrass me Infront of the whole court, I knew I wanted you worse than dead” He grabs her chin roughly, forcing her to meet his eyes. His hand on her jaw was tight enough to bruise.  
“there she is, little Marianne, the crown princess- oh pardon me, the former crown princess. Sold off to some war lord whose going to fuck you full of children and pass you around to his friends, then do the same to your sister” Marianne’s eyes burned with tears, she forced her eyes away from Roland’s, but his had moved from her jaw down to her throat when she tried to twist away, grasping more tightly.  
“Oh now sweetheart don’t fight me, there’s a whole camp full of men that would love to watch you suffer my sweet” Marianne was starting to panic, knowing exactly what Roland wanted, he’d tried to pressure her before during their engagement. She tried to pull away from him.  
“Oh buttercup I’m not going to take what’s not mine, the contract demands your maiden head, so I couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t want to ruin you, only bruise you a little. Make it so your husband passes you over for your sister. Imagine that, your new husband receiving damaged goods making you watch dawn instead”   
Marianne knew his hit was coming before he landed it. Tensing, his knee landed in her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She doubled over only to have Roland yank her hair forcing her head backwards, his chainmail glove glanced off her cheek. The next dozen hits landed on her face, arms, back and lower legs. By the end of it she was curled up on the hard packed dirt of the road. Gasping around bruised ribs and spitting blood. She was proud though, she never once gave Roland the satisfaction of hearing her scream. The final kick of his armored boot landed in the center of her stomach. He used the toe of his boot to roll her onto her back before ever so gently rubbing his knuckles along her temple.  
“See buttercup it would have been better if you just married me, none of this woulda’ happened.” His attempt at soothing made Marianne flinch away which only made him smile. She tried to roll away from his last kick, but it landed across her shoulder.  
It took A few moments before Marianne could roll onto her knees, cataloguing what would soon be dozens of bruises. A few more seconds and she managed to get her legs under her, she stayed hunched over until dawn managed to help boost her into the wagon. They laid together on the rolled blankets, hidden between chests.   
“Oh Marianne” Dawn was crying, cutting strips of fabric off a blanket, to dab away the blood on Marianne’s face. They didn’t say anything to each other, Marianne didn’t need to explain, and Dawn wasn’t prepared to pry.  
“It will get better” Marianne said as she tried to wipe away Dawn’s tears but only managed to smudge some of her own blood and dirt on Dawn’s cheek.  
“How can you be sure Marianne?” Dawn asked timidly. Marianne took a deep wheezing breath around the pain in her sides, she knew the bruises would be dark and take a long time to fade. Her head spun and it hurt to breath, but she forced a reply anyway.  
“It’s hard to be worse than Roland, or our coward father” Dawn shushed her.  
“if the king isn’t better, I’ll kill him Myself and we can run west, steal a boat and live as pirates” Marianne half joked, but Dawn didn’t laugh. In the quiet of their wagon calling their father a coward and threatening regicide was the only way to manage their grief.  
“It’ll be better because It has to be” Marianne assured, it has to be, or I’ll make it so.

Neither of them dared leave the wagon the rest of the night or following day. Much to Dawns unhappiness Marianne had strapped one of her three daggers to Dawns calf, under her skirts. Marianne slept clutching the others, dreams haunted by Roland’s smooth voice, ‘if you just married me, none of this woulda’ happened’.  
Just before dusk they arrived at the crossroads just before the boarder, without acknowledging either Girl, the men unloaded the wagon of their things. Stacked neatly on the side of the road, their whole lives in the balance.  
Marianne noticed the riders approaching from the north before the soldiers did. But as they came closer, she tried to study them before they were close enough to see her bruised face. There were maybe twenty men and women followed by an empty wagon. From what Marianne could tell they were dressed in wool and woven fabrics, simple tunics and loose trousers, even the women. To keep the chill of the night away they wore fur coats fashioned with belts and woven ropes. From what Marianne could tell they each carried their own weapons, some had swords same as the soldiers and Marianne. Two or three had long pikes, maybe eight feet long that poked straight in the air. One larger woman had from what Marianne could tell, a club hanging from her saddle. Lastly, she focused her attention the rider at the head of the group, she couldn’t tell quite what he held, she saw no sword but maybe a long staff, she couldn’t tell what it was made from. He sat much taller than the others, which Marianne had assumed was because of the horse he rode, easily the biggest she’d seen. Much bigger than the working horses she’d seen used in fields or pulling wagons.   
When they were close enough Marianne focused her eyes on the ground, letting the hood cover her battered face, grabbing Dawns hand they waited.


End file.
